


Schrodinger's Galahad

by kayecho



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Bug collecting, Dramedy, F/F, F/M, Fictional towns, Gen, Harry Hart Lives, Libraries, M/M, Road Trip, Small Towns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-31 22:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3995413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayecho/pseuds/kayecho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere out there Harry is either dead or alive, and until proven that one is true and one is false, he is simultaneously both. Also known as, Eggsy and Roxy Look for Harry in the great state of Kentucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Lowfield was a small, quiet Kentucky town. It, like nearly every city in the world, was impacted by what the few media outlets that were left called V-day. They considered themselves lucky that the denizens were either old, weak, or not at all equipped for murder. There were several injuries that day, and only one death (Brought upon, not by V-day aggression, but rather by a stray falling ladder. Mrs Bigglesworth will be sorely missed.), compared to the hundreds upon hundreds of victims from neighboring towns. It was a debilitating several months for the world, but eventually human nature took it’s course, and it recovered, limping to what could only be considered normalcy.

In the center of the small town of Lowfield, was a beautiful library. It was small, painted pink, with white shutters and a white steepled roof. It did not, however, boast a particularly impressive collection of classic literature. It appealed primarily to the town’s older patrons (magazines, how-to’s, and pulp fiction), in addition to rather large selection of vintage children’s books. It was also home to a fairly new entomology collection, which was the work of a fairly new Lowfield resident. He was a middle aged gentleman that had been brought in after a fairly long stint in the hospital. As far as anyone was concerned he was a victim of V-day who suffered a terrible bout of amnesia: the only survivor at the South Glade Mission Church.

The gentleman’s name, according to the passport and driver’s license, was Jack London (A fact that the nurses found _hilarious_ given the man’s English accent.). His address was a small house, in a small village in Wiltshire, but any research into his identity came up empty handed. He was, it seemed, a lonely older gentleman, with no family and no next of kin.

Nurse Miller (bless her bleeding heart), adopted Mr. London following her retirement date, all but dragging him into her classic little Lowfield home. “He reminds me of my son,” she had said, “Except he’s a big hot-shot lawyer in New York. And he never finds the time to call his mother.” Never mind that Mr Bradley Miller II was already a grandfather himself.

Jack was, in a word, unremarkable. He kept Nurse Miller company at night, and worked in the library during the day. Further research into his identity showed that he was a graduate at Oxford University with a degree is classical literature. He was neither top, nor bottom of his class. He participated in minimal club activities and did not study abroad. It was as if everything about him was explicitly designed to be as unimpressive and as forgettable as possible.

“There you are. I’ve finally caught you, Agrius cingulata,” Jack cooed as he closed his hand around the specimen. It’s pink banded wings beat against the palm of his hand, but he was careful. It would be a shame to ruin them. He gently pinched the thorax of the beating insect. It was a clean death, though likely not very painless. He only felt a small amount of remorse every time he found a new species for his collection. He tucked the moth into a small glassine envelope for future preservation, before finally leaving the large field that Nurse Frances Miller called her backyard. He didn’t remember much, but he remembered bugs. That would be good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Of course I picked the Jack London as a name for obvious reasons, even if it sounds really, really cheesy. In the future we'll encounter Eggsy and Roxy and Merlin etc. What's already been written is pretty gen in nature, but will eventually feature relationships at various points of the romantic spectrum. Boys loving boys, girls loving girls... There might be some Harry and Eggsy stuff, there might be some Merlin and Harry stuff. There might be some Roxy and Amelia stuff. Who knows. There even be some Harry and his Black Jewish Boyfriend stuff.


	2. Where Percival Helpfully Suggests the Title.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new Merlin is introduced. Eggsy has a tempter tantrum. And everyone gets their hopes up.

Arthur pushed up at his glasses and cleared his throat. He moved to address the table of Kingsman. It had started as a table of ten, nine agents and an Arthur at the head. It had been reduced to seven agents, with Arthur at the head and Eggsy, currently unassigned and, unknown to him, about to throw a temper tantrum of the worst kind.

“This is the third time,” Arthur began, “in as many days, for us to gather around this table in person. We have already drank to our fallen brothers, and we have voted to place myself in this position. I remind you that I still accept it reluctantly. Today, we shall be introduced to a couple replacements, but while we attempt to pull ourselves together, there will be no new candidates.” The Scotsman shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable at the head of the table. “You’re all familiar with Gary Unwin. He is the one responsible for assassinating Richmond Valentine.”

There was a murmur of approval amongst those sitting at the table. Eggsy looked smug.

“He is our new Bors.”

A pregnant pause hung in the air, followed by something that could only be described as a figurative rubber band snapping.

“Is this some kinda joke, Merlin-- I mean, _Arthur_? I deserve to be Galahad more than anyone else, and you’re tellin’ me that I _can’t_?! That is bullshit!” Eggsy slammed his hands on the large, old oak desk. He was huffing, red faced and angry.

The man formerly known as Merlin, sighed with his whole body. His broad shoulders rose and fell with practiced patience. “You are trying my patience, boy.”

“You’re trying _my_ patience, old man!”

“Calm down, Eggsy.” Roxy, code name Lancelot, encouraged from her seat at the table. She struck a strong figure in her bespoke suit and headset glasses. “I’m sure Arthur has his reasons, don’t you Arthur?”

“No, I just like watching him squirm.” Arthur, formerly known as Merlin, turned his attention back to the table, ignoring the red-faced agent at his side. “And, of course, there is the matter of my replacement. Merlin, would you please come in and introduce yourself to the table?”

A tall, thin young woman with dark hair entered the dining room. Her hair was pulled into a bun, and she wore a cardigan over a black shift dress. She held a clipboard under one arm. Her posture was rehearsed. She played the part perfectly. Roxy recognized her immediately. “Amelia!” she gasped.

Amelia, code name Merlin, smiled and nodded her head in Roxy’s direction, before she gave a rather curt bow to the rest of the table. 

“I’m sure you are all familiar with Amelia,” Arthur addressed, “She is the best and brightest from our IT department in Berlin, and I would have trusted no one else to take my position.”

“And given that I have actively participated in training, it seemed a natural fit,” the young woman added with a small little smirk. “I should hope that you all accept me, and that I will do everything to assist you to the best of my abilities.”

There was a quite round of applause from the table, despite Eggsy sticking his neck out and interrupting. “Excuse me!? Are we gonna talk about why I don’t get to be Galahad, or what?”

Arthur took in another deep breath, and the rest of the agents recognized the look on his face. They’d been around long enough. A word wasn’t even required before they were dismissing themselves from the table, leaving the three youngest and newest in the dining room alone with an annoyed Scotsman. There was a thing to be said about experience.

There was also a thing to be said about being so familiar with the men he had been monitoring for years, and when they were finally gone Arthur let out his breath as a sigh, and he shrugged out of his suit jacket. He was much more comfortable in his sweaters. He was going to miss them. “Listen to me, Eggsy. I can not allow you to replace Galahad, if there is even the slightest possibility that he is still alive.”

That shut the young man up. His red face lost all its color. Roxy supplied the words Eggsy was thinking: “What do you mean, _alive_?”

Amelia spoke up here. It was her cue, after all. She tapped at the paper thin tablet on her clipboard. “We do not replace a Kingsman until we know for a hundred percent certainty that they are, in fact, deceased.”

“I think being shot in the head counts as deceased,” Eggsy offered.

The picture frame beside the new Merlin flickered to life. “These are the last moments that streamed to Galahad’s home terminal, and the Merlin terminal.”

“Fuck, I don’t want to see that again,” Eggsy protested, casting his gaze aside, as the video played.

Richmond Valentine approaching with Gazelle. The image bobbed up and down slightly, as Harry obviously tried to catch his breath. The familiar exchange of dialogue that was burned into Eggsy’s memory and then the explosion of a gunshot. The image shattered into white noise and then turned black.

“How is he not dead, then?” Roxy supplied. She was transfixed. She hadn’t been there to see it happen. She only knew second hand what had transpired in that small Kentucky church. 

“Unfortunately, I’m not saying that he isn’t dead. I’m only saying that there is a small chance he is alive.” Amelia turned her attention back to her tablet, tapping the screen.

Arthur filled in the air in the mean time. “When we sent a crew to gather the body, it was missing, but upon searching the Valentine safe zone, there was no trace of Galahad’s remains.”

“Well dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.” Roxy’s brow was furrowing.

“Exactly.”

Amelia spoke up then, and a new video appeared in the picture frame beside her. “The Kingsman glasses that you wear don’t only provide us with audio and video feeds, but they transmit vital information from your suits.” The video showed the ekg of a heart monitor, abruptly flatlining.

“That’s Harry?” Eggsy stared at it, watching the small video loop over and over. “So he died.”

“Not necessarily. The vitals read flat lined, because the glasses were sending corrupt information. I uncovered it shortly after V-day, and have been working on trying to access the information.” Amelia tapped on her tablet again, and a slow, barely there, thready pulse appeared. “We lost all AV feed, and the tracker, but I was able to recover this. A pulse. He was _alive_.”

“So-So what the fuck are we doing here, then? Why aren’t we out there looking for him!?”

The pulse kept going for quite a while on the screen, until it vanished.

“Because,” Amelia supplied, “it stopped sending information. He took off his suit. Or someone else did. I can only assume that he was picked up and admitted into hospital where they undressed him. Which means--”

“Which means there’s still a possibility that he’s a John Doe sitting in a Kentucky morgue somewhere.” Arthur glanced down at his own tablet, one that detailed the provided information for his own records.

“Or he’s alive,” Roxy offered, a bit more optimistic.

“If he was alive he would have contacted us. He would have come back to me,” Eggsy sounded a little strung out. It was too much information too quickly.

“Unless he’s in a coma.” Amelia’s suggestion struck an imperfect middle ground. “Looking into it, there were several John Does admitted into various Kentucky hospitals around South Glade. Those who were not identified by others, dead or alive, were not Galahad. He must have had an identity on him.”

This was Arthur’s cue to sigh, long and dragged and annoyed. “Harry,” he started, “had a very bad habit of doing things differently. He created identities for himself. Back ups. He kept them to himself. I warned him that one day it meant we wouldn’t be able to track him down, but…”

“So somewhere out there, Harry is some kinda unknown identity and is either dead or alive?” Eggsy’s face crumpled into a questioning, confused expression.

“Like Schrodinger’s Galahad!”

The four in the room turned towards the door, towards the new voice that joined their conversation. Percival’s slim figure approached. He had an amused sort of expression on his face. Obviously he had been listening the whole time, the sneak, and he was clapping his hands together, pleased with his own joke. “So obviously we intend on tracking down this Schrodinger’s Galahad and bring him home, correct?”

“We don’t need three agents on one mission,” Arthur protested. “Especially a simple recovery mission!”

“This ain’t just a mission, this is about findin’ _Harry_!” Eggsy pounded his fist on the table again. His glasses had gone askew, and his hair was a mess from the excitement. His face was red for a whole new reason now. “If he’s out there, and he’s alive, we have to bring him home. Back to us! And if he’s dead then… if he’s dead then…” He took a deep breath. “Then I’m sure we all want a place where we can pay our respects. A place to leave flowers…”

Roxy reached a hand over and gently covered Eggsy’s fist, looking up at him. “I’m with you, Bors.”

Percival glanced at Arthur and received a frown in response. He sighed, defeated. As much as he wanted to offer his bow and become a part of their fellowship, he knew better than to disobey the wishes of the Kingsman’s Arthur. “I’ll stay here and monitor from HQ with Merlin. Be careful you two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose I should apologize for my characterization of Percival. I somehow couldn't resist making him out into such a nerd.


	3. Where Jack is compared to Mr. Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to the small town of Lowfield, Jack London reads to children, and meets a handsome black man, who may or may not be Jewish, but is trying his darndest to flirt with him.

The Lowfield Public Library liked to keep its doors and windows open on lovely days. This was one of those days. This allowed fresh air and sunlight to stream into the library, as well as being warm and inviting. Mrs Winston, the head librarian, set out a sign board, advertising the day’s events. She was in her forties, diminutive in height, but round and soft with short black hair and glasses.

**Lowfield’s own Jack London performing a reading of children’s books from the hours of 1-3pm. Snacks will be provided.**

“Thank you for doing this today, Mr. London. The children will love it! You have the most charming little accent.”

Jack positioned the rocking chair, and then re-positioned it, and re-positioned it one more time, until he was satisfied with it’s spot. It was currently in direct sunlight, but as the day would wear on, he knew it would be perfectly illuminated for the children. He hoped more than four would show today. Last month’s attendance, with Mrs Winston reading, was disappointing at best. There was, of course, the offer of free food this time. Perhaps that would make the difference. He plucked an old, faded book from one of the shelves. It was, an original first edition hardcover publication of Howard Pyle’s _The Story of King Arthur and His Knights_. It was fragile, but he had felt a bizarre sensation upon discovering its existence in this library. 

“I think I’ll read this,” he said with a soft smile, sliding his hand across the cover. Maybe this book meant something to him, somewhere in the depths of the memories he was unable to recall. He was, according to Frances, a classic literature scholar, after all.

“Oh! A classic English story to be read by a classic English accent. You’re so charming, Mr London.” Mrs Winston, first name Susan, pat his shoulder as she walked past. “I can’t help but wonder how you ended up so lonely.”

“Ah, a Biston betularia. You shouldn’t be in here. It’s day time.” Jack shooed a moth out of the reading area, and that practically answered Susan’s question. Without his memories, he was a strange man, and she supposed with them, he was even stranger.

Jack wasn’t certain why he knew so much about insects, but it was all he could cling to. It was what came to him the easiest. Little did he know, if he were to ever find himself in a situation where he would have to _fight_ , that would prove itself to be second nature. Fortunately (or maybe _unfortunately_ ), Lowfield was not the kind of town that caters to that.

A few pitchers of varied powdered, sugared drinks were set out on a long table, along with some packaged supermarket cookies, and neon orange filled crackers (the orange, Jack would eventually realize, was supposed to resemble the color and flavour of cheese). A stack of carpet squares was placed at the entrance to the sunken reading space. Soft, child-friendly music was pumped in via an old CD player.

“You look like Mr Rogers.”

Jack blinked at the gentleman standing in front of him. “I’m sorry?”

“With the cardigan. You look like Mr Rogers. I loved Mr Rogers.” The man was tall, about Jack’s height, with dark skin, a shiny bald head and glasses. He struck an intimidating figure in a t-shirt that showed off his muscular torso. By his side was a small girl, no more than five or six, who clung to his jeans, looking shy.

“Thank you?” Jack had no idea who Mr Rogers was. Maybe he was a man that used to live in this town.

“Do we just take a carpet square and have a seat?” The man asked, gesturing to the pile.

“Yes, exactly. There’s still fifteen minutes, if you want to browse our selection.”

“Do you want to look for books, kitten?” The man smiled down at the shy girl, who nodded and pressed her face into his jeans. “C’mon. Let’s pick out a book and you can bring it home to mom and you can read it together.”

Jack watched the man for a short moment. He had this nagging feeling in the back of his head that told him the gentleman was _handsome_. Up until now he hadn’t ever had those feelings, at least towards the various women that came to greet him. All those women who thought he was “cute” and wanted to take him out to dinner. It left him feeling confused, but he tried to ignore it. He had a mission today.

The afternoon reading saw a record attendance of _eight_. Susan was applauding at the end of Jack’s thrilling reading. He had managed to single handedly double the previous attendance. Clearly Jack was what afternoon readings were missing. The English gentleman rolled his eyes in response, and watched the children gather their carpet squares and rejoin their parents.

A couple children were chatting excitedly about King Arthur, and asking their parents to find them more books on the subject. That was the goal, wasn’t it?

“You have a lovely accent.”

Jack looked up from his seat. The intimidating gentleman was there again. He was smiling, holding onto the small little girl he had called Kitten. “Where are you from? I spent some time in England myself. Military, you know.”

“Honestly,” Jack responded as he moved to his feet, “I have no idea. My passport mentioned a village in Wiltshire, but I have no memory of that place. Or much of England, that is.”

“Really?”

“V-day victim. Amnesia.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I imagine that I am like this as some sort of penance for my actions.” Jack shrugged, but the intimidating gentleman smiled again.

“Will you be doing a reading against next weekend?”

“No, I don--”

Susan swept in, munching on a chocolate cookie. “Of course he is,” she chirped. “It was a smashing success! It wouldn’t be right for him to not do it again.” She pat her hand on his shoulder, leaving behind a few crumbs. Jack glanced down at them, and brushed them off his cream colored cardigan.

“Then I look forward to seeing you next week,” the intimidating gentleman said with that perpetual smile, and he gathered up the small girl he called Kitten, who was clutching an armful of picture books, and departed.

Mrs Winston munched through a second cookie. “He’s cute,” she commented. “I haven’t seen him around this town before. He must be new to town.”

“Hm.” Jack’s sound was noncommittal, and he moved to clean up after the reading. It didn’t feel like a natural fit for him, to sit surrounded by a handful of children and read them stories, but it felt _nice_. It felt like a vacation. Whatever life he had lead prior to this one, was nowhere near as easy.

Maybe it was blessing that he had no recollection of his past. He had heard stories around town about the South Glade Mission Church. If that was the kind of man he used to be, he wanted nothing to do with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have updated the Rating to coincide with recent chapters that have been written. It takes a turn from G-street to NC-17 in one chapter. I figured it was inevitable.


End file.
